


A Bet of Our Own

by neytah



Category: Only The Young (Band), X Factor (UK) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, F/M, Hate to Love, Quidditch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-04
Updated: 2014-12-04
Packaged: 2018-02-28 00:53:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2712980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neytah/pseuds/neytah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Slytherin and Gryffindor beaters Mikey and Parisa have a bet: who can sent the most players to the infirmary in one season. </p><p>Their friends, Betsy and Charlie, have an entirely different bet: how long it’ll take for the two of them to finally get together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Bet of Our Own

**Author's Note:**

> so, here it is, finally! thank you to the lovely anon on tumblr cheering me on for this, i hope you like it. a good amount of inspiration was drawn from brooklyn nine nine, from jake and amy's bet in season one.

It starts as a friendly bet, born from a friendly rivalry. (However, friendly might be a strong word.)

Their rivalry isn't exactly a secret. They've been feuding since second year, when they were both enlisted as beaters for opposing teams. And it doesn't stay on the field, either. Whether in battles of wit in class or that one time they started a food fight in the great hall and got detention for two months—they're always letting their distaste for each other be well known.

So at the beginning of sixth year, they make a bet. They both pride themselves on being great beaters for their respective teams. And for years, they've argued over who is better. And now they've come up with a quantitative way of competing. Whoever sends the most players to the infirmary in the quiddich season will be declared the better beater (and also, win ten galleons.)

"You are absolutely insane." Betsy tells Parisa. "Is this really necessary?" Parisa rolls her eyes.

"Yes, of course it's necessary." Parisa responds. "It's the perfect method of finally proving I'm better than him."

"But what about all the people you'll hurt?"

"Injuries are part of the game, all the players are well aware of the possible consequences. And I'll have you know that we agreed that injuring spectators is against the rules."

Betsy sighs, all to familiar with the nature of the games they play.

Parisa and Betsy have been friends since the first year, both sorted in Gryffindor. Despite being in the same house, they are quite different. Parisa's always been extroverted and outgoing, Betsy's been the quiet, studious one. Still, they _are_ best friends.

So Betsy's been there to watch the fireworks between Parisa and Mikey Bromley from the moment they started. Fromm a wizard duel that got out of hand in third year DADA, or fourth year's quiddich cup final that, within all fourteen players, resulted in a broken collarbone, two broken wrists, and most notably, Mikey getting a concussion that Parisa is dubiously responsible for. This new development, this bet, isn't a surprise at all.

Within the first few weeks of quiddich matches, practically the whole school knows about the bet. With Ravenclaw chaser getting a bruised rib, then the Hufflepuff seeker and his broken nose, the already distinct surplus of quiddich related injuries doesn't go unnoticed. And after a less than quiet argument in a hallway over whether or not an injury counts if they're discharged from the infirmary on the same day, basically everyone knows.

"You could kill someone, you know," Charlie mentions once.

"People don't die in quiddich."

"Yeah, yet."

Mikey snorts. "You're a funny one, Charlie." He says.

The truth is, there've been only two recorded deaths resulting from quiddich. And in the evolution of the sport, the safety precautions have improved greatly. Truthfully, Charlie isn't genuinely concerned for any deaths from this macabre bet. However Charlie's Hufflepuff roots still object to the premise of it. It's times like these he wonders how he's become so close with a Slytherin.

The bet continues, on through October and November, despite the professors attempts to stop it. The thing is, while everyone knows it's happening, there's not actual proof, and their gameplay doesn't break any rules.

So it continues.

At the end of December, Charlie and Betsy meet in the library to study for their Charms test when their friends are brought up in conversation.

Their mutual acquaintances have always been amusing to the two of them. They never hang out as a four, obviously, Parisa and Mikey would end up arguing thirty seconds in. But her and Charlie always love telling stories—the same arguments from different sides—whenever they happen to study together.

The score currently stands 19 to 22, Mikey leading. The other players aren't even upset anymore. They're mostly taking sides, recently. Like last week James Graham was upset because Parisa broke his nose and he's rooting for Mikey.

"Don't you think this has been going on too long?" Charlie asks.

"It's barbaric, yeah, but when have Parisa and Mikey ever gone back on their word?"

"Yeah, they're stubborn like that."

Their equal stubbornness is one of many reasons Charlie and Betsy think they'd make a good couple (that is, if they'd stop insulting each other for five seconds.) There have been several attempts to get them together in their years of friendship, but all have ended in disaster.

In their third year, there was this illicit upperclassmen party, and of course, Parisa was determined to sneak in. As it happened, so did Mikey. So Betsy and Charlie formulated a plan. Because maybe, with a few shots of firewhiskey , and needing to keep quiet to avoid detection of a bundle of 13 year olds at a party they clearly weren't invited to, they might end up having a conversation at a normal volume.

This, of course, backfired. They started drunkenly yelling at each other, and the four of them got kicked out. It was still fun, and a great story to tell, but a disaster nonetheless.

Then last year, when Slytherin won the Quiddich Finals, and both were sure to get drunk on smuggled whiskey, so Charlie and Betsy planned on getting their respective friend drunk enough to admit some sort of feelings for the other. However, Mikey quickly abandoned Charlie for another gender, and Parisa ended up falling asleep on Betsy's bed, babbling about fire-breathing pegacorns or something.

Clearly, they need to stop involving alcohol in their matchmaking plans.

Actually, Betsy's more or less convinced that it's a lost cause. She's sure they're both far too stubborn to ever get together, let alone actually work out. Charlie, however, is far more optimistic, which Betsy finds ludicrous. It's been years, and Betsy _knows_ Parisa, and she's far too thick to even realize any feelings, and Betsy is quite skeptical that that's ever gonna change.

So, in spirit of Mikey and Parisa, Betsy and Charlie make a bet of their own. Ten galleons, and bragging rights to the winner. End time—quiddich cup final. If they get together but then: Charlie wins. If they don't: Betsy wins.

And, after years of Mikey and Parisa making trouble, their friends can finally get some fun out of it.

Things go on as usual until February. There's a quiddich match between Slytherin and Gryffindor. It's a big one, too. If Slytherin goes out now, they're out of the running for the quiddich cup. And the whole school turns up, not only to see who wins, but to see who—and by whom—will be taking a trip to the hospital wing. Apparently, there's a couple vagabond students-turned-bookies taking bets on who and by whom will bet hurt. Betting seems to be a general theme this year.

By midgame the score stands 50-70 Slytherin.  A Slytherin chaser has already been switched out, the former off to the infirmary, sporting a bleeding nose. What happens next, no one expects. (Well, actually, according to the bookies, two people bet on this exact thing happening and are surely overjoyed, but no one else saw this coming.)

Like most games this season, the focus is not on the quaffle, but the bludgers, and the people hitting them. And it's almost in slow motion, the crack of bat against ball, the collective gasp of the crowd as it hits its target, then tumbles to the ground.

Parisa's just knocked Mikey from his broom.

It's the most controversial match in years. Not only that Slytherin lost after the Gryffindor seeker caught the snitch, but Parisa's, by what some call unorthodox 'win' of the bet. She's still one injury behind, technically, but no one doubts that she'll be able to make that up in the next two games. Slytherin can no longer play, and he's holed up in the infirmary for a least a week anyway, so there's no way for him to defend his title. She's more or less won already.

But somehow, amongst all the cheering and congratulations, she's able to sneak away unnoticed.

To the hospital wing.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Is the first thing he says.

"Wanted to make sure I didn't kill you. Or something."

She never really got to see the damage she caused on the field. It was all adrenaline, too much to absorb what she'd done. Now, she can actually take in the damage.

It's a bruise that entirely encircles his eye, a black eye she's never seen the likes of before. It's not just black, it's like a gradient of reds and blacks and blues, covering about a quarter of his face.

"Nurse says you fractured my eye socket. No wonder I fell. Fucked up my leg, too." 

 "I didn't know it was you." She blurts out. She's looking at the floor now, she can't look at him. " I just saw green and swung."

"Whatever." He looks away. "Look in the drawer over there." He waves a hand in the direction of the bedside table. She opens the drawer to ten galleons shining up at her.

"Those are yours." He says. "You win. Now get out."

She stands there for a beat or two, looking at him, him looking away. She wants to say anything, just something. But in the end, she just takes the money and goes, nearly running into that Hufflepuff boy as she leaves.

Charlie tells Betsy later how Parisa went to see Mikey in the hospital wing. How it's the first conversation they've had in years without yelling at each other.

Parisa's moody for the next few days, despite the Gryffindor team moving on to the final match. She's sitting on her bed, skimming through a textbook, when Betsy decides to bring it up.

"I heard you went to see Mikey in the infirmary."

She drops the book immediately, horror in her eyes.

"Who told you?! Who saw me?!"

"Just Charlie."

She sighs in relief.

"Oh yeah. I forgot you hang out with that loser."

"He's not—"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever."

There's a pause of silence, then Betsy speaks again.

"So you went to see Mikey."

"Yes, I did, sue me. Wanted to make sure I hadn't bashed his head in so hard he'd lost the ability to make snarky comments. But don't worry, his mouth is still fully functioning, as well as his brain, unfortunately."

She goes back to her book, but Betsy still pries.

"So why did you—"

"I'm trying to read this book, okay?!"

"Since when do you actually read the coursework?" Betsy practically laughs.

"I just... need to read this for class. Lay off, will ya?"

Betsy does her best to hold in her laughter, and leaves Parisa alone, for now.

Now, Betsy's at least a little worried about Charlie winning this bet.

A few weeks pass. Gryffindor wins the quiddich cup, and Parisa's not nearly as overjoyed as she should be. Now, it's the end of the quiddich season. No more injuries, no more bets, for the time being. Charlie begrudgingly gives up ten galleons to a smug Betsy.

Mikey's cleaning out his quiddich locker, finally released from the infirmary, when she approaches.

"Hey."

It surprises him, he almost jumps, hopes she doesn't notice. No one's supposed to be here, all the other players have already cleared out their stuff, Mikey's only here now because of his extended stay in the hospital wing. His leg is all fixed up now, the bruise on his face has shrunk, fewer shades of blue now. It still looks pretty bad, though.

"Congrats on the win." He closes his locker door with a slam. "Come to rub it in my face?"

She doesn't say anything, just steps forward, grabs his hand roughly and shoves ten galleons into his open palm.

"There's your money. You can have it back, I don't want it."

She turns to go, but he grabs her wrist, swinging her back 'round to face him. He shoves the money back into her hand.

"You won, fair and square. Keep it."

"I told you, I don't want it!" She starts to yell. "I'm trying to give you money, Bromley, will you just take it!"

The money clinks against the ground when it falls. He lurches forward, his hands cup her cheeks, clashing their lips together. It's messy and uncoordinated, and it takes Parisa a few beats to come back to her senses. She does it without thinking, like she does most things. Her arm swings around, fist slamming into his head, the side opposite the preexisting bruise, luckily. He spits out several profanities as she stumbles away, clutching his head.

"You tryin'a kill me, Tarjomani?"

She's frozen as the last coin, still in her hand, falls to the ground, clinking against the floor with a high pitched ring. Now they're just standing there, eyes met in silence.

This time Parisa moves first.

It all happens too fast. Her hands are in his hair, his arms around her waist, pulling her flush against him, noses and teeth clashing. It's aggressive and pumped with adrenaline, like everything else they do in life.

Betsy gives Charlie the money back, even though she won, technically. She didn't need to, no, but she wanted to anyway. Because they both have won infinite bragging rights for being the first people to call them getting together. So they feel like winners anyway.


End file.
